The following desription is reposted with permission from Form and Formlessness, with thanks to Erin A. Thomas, who also writes on Allpoetry as Zahhar.
My 1st trisect poem. The trisect is my own semantically complex poetic form which I will use to help me with developing my use of depictive language.
E merge nce
walls of paper kept the world at bay cubes of indistinction none would see where settled there within a watcher peered
the dusty brown a perfect camouflage propped against a wall or by a hedge passed a thousand times by reckless feet
corrugated fibers held the wind so that the space inside was made to form a child’s island haven from the storm
sometimes it was a spaceship among the stars sometimes a moon-base on a barren scape sometimes a roving tank all battle-scarred but always it provided safe escape
shaped from molten vats of ore molded by a burning greed riveted with violent force pieces merge to fill a need
manifest from heavy silence oils surge and slowly drip uncertainty across the roads
power charges through its frame explosions channeled in its chest to serve a senseless master’s will
tires grind an alley’s dirt shadows steer a ghostly wheel the phantom grill athirst for blood
black lightning strikes the living clay evaporating life from every limb suspending consciousness alone void of breath yet interfused with fear
tires spin throughout the dark an engine roars above a twisted neck inches from a lifeless face psychic tethers anchored in vibration
a heedless monster lumbers back the shelter shattered open like a nest blood resumes its former course and wild bones reanimate the flesh
a figure stands and staggers numb with pain screams and scampers filled with terror headlights rear and fade away a child’s bones left fractured like his mind
The first segment focuses on cardboard. I used to create cardboard forts when I was a child—sometimes very elaborate—and hang out in them all day long. Some of them would be portable, and some would be built in vacant lots or alleyways blocks or miles from home. They were always very well camouflaged, so my little hideout would remain my little hideout. The portable ones I’d often setup at the edge of a busy parking lot, made to look like a pile of scrap cardboard, where I’d hang out and just watch people without them knowing. These simple forts were a safe haven for me, a private place to go and be away from troubles and worries. And I had my share.
The second segment focuses on the automobile, the car. I remember reading up on their manufacturing process and design, and the primary materials used in their construction, before starting this segment.
The third segment focuses on a little mishap I had in one of those cardboard forts as a 14 year old, which involved a car. It was in an alleyway a few blocks from home. City blocks. Los Angeles City blocks. About a mile away at least. I had some big fight with my mother that day and decided I’d just have my own space that night in a cardboard fort I and a friend had built a day or two before. It was a beautiful fort, with four separate compartments, each of which were big enough to lay out flat in. The whole thing was masterfully camouflaged with various sorts of debris from the area, including dead palm branches and branches of other sorts. In the end it looked like a slash pile, just a bunch of branches and other random materials tossed into a pile—but it was hollow, and there were access points.
That night as I slept a car slammed into the fort and ran over my right arm, shoulder, and neck, breaking the upper arm longways from near the elbow across to the top near the ball socket, and blew a piece out of the ball socket itself. My neck was severely sprained—which is of course a miracle. It was possible to make out the tire treads on my throat. How I happened to be aligned such that the tire didn’t snap my head one way and pop my skull off the spine like a bottle opener I have no idea.
This was my first NDE. I have no way to prove it, but I just know. I know what I experienced, and I was dead for at least a moment—and a moment is long enough to be dead. Sometime I’ll dedicate some poetry and discussion to that experience. But as I “returned”, after the car had somehow managed to back up off me without running over my neck a second time, I sprang up in a panic, and it came toward me again, then stopped, then backed all the way down the alley and around the far corner, as if in a mad rush to escape affiliation with the mishap. I’ll never forget the sight of those headlights.
I was near a series of hotels. And each time I knocked, with my left arm since right wouldn’t respond, the owners would come to the door and I’d ask for help and they’d slam the door on me. It sucked. In this manner I ended up up making my way half a mile to an apartment complex my mom had lived in a year or so before, where some people knew me, and an ambulance was called.
This is a complex accentual-syllabic form invented by Glenn Meisenheimer writing on Allpoetry.com as gmcookie.
The Choriambic dactylic fusion is: Stanzaic, consisting of any number of quatrains. Each stanza is rhymed: (a/a)x(b/b)x, where x is unrhymed, and the letters within parentheses indicate internal rhyme with the end word. Each stanza is metered: L1 and L1 are choriambic dimeter. A choriamb is a trochee followed by an iamb, thus DUM da da DUM. L2 is catelectic dactylic tetrameter, thus [DUM da da] [DUM da da] [DUM da da] [DUM da ^] * catalectic: (kăt′l-ĕk′tĭk) adj. adj. Lacking one or more syllables especially in the final foot. L4 is catelectic dactylic trimeter, thus [DUM da da] [DUM da da] [DUM ^ ^]
This should all be made clear by the visual template below.
Here is the inventor’s first poem using this form:
Pounding away day after day, Prying the gold from the heart of the mountain, Digging the ore, searching for more, That’s what the goblins all do.
When it gets dark time to embark, Crawling from holes to the moon lighted surface, Patter of feet, hunting for meat, Deep in the darkening woods.
Man child is best, troublesome pest, Juicy and tender when stewed or when roasted, Rabbits are nice, deer will suffice, Partridge or grouses will too.
Then they are gone just before dawn Scurrying back to their home in the darkness, Digging the ore, searching for more, That’s what the goblins all do.
Pasted from <http://allpoetry.com/poem/11855944-Goblins-by-gmcookie>
Gallivanting (Form: Choriambic dactylic fusion)
Riding the rails, sleeping in jails youth was misspent if consensus is taken. Sleeping in tents, riding the fence these were the acts that he loved.
Going on hikes, riding on bikes Travel was far more important than where to. Seeing how life coped with it’s strife, building himself on the fly.
Seas that he’d sail hunting for whale toughened him up and exposed him to drinking, planning to chase ladies in lace, gambling with dice and with cards.
Hunting for gold, campsites were cold metals he learned to decipher by looking. Scattered around, wonders were found When and wherever he went.
Filled up with life, finding a wife knowing the place where he started was dandy, he raised some kids, yep, that he did here at the end of the line.
Paraphrased Great Poetry is an invented form created by Amera on Allpoetry.com.
Take a well-known poem, then rewrite it in four lines of iambic trimeter (six-syllable lines with the stressed syllables in position 2, 4, and 6). These are monorhyme poems, meaning all of the lines end with the same rhyming word (rhyme scheme AAAA).
The Wreck of the Hesperus
The Hesperus did sail Into a blust’ring gale, But like the poor in jail, She couldn’t make the bail.
Evang’line, young and shy, In exile lost her guy, But found him, by and by, In time to see him die.
I wandered like a cloud O’er hills both tall and proud, And they were well endowed In daffodilian shroud.
A-rapping at my door, A raven fluttered o’er, And said I’d see Lenore, But when? Why, “nevermore.”
Oh here comes Gunga Din, With water in a skin. Although he’s frail and thin, He’s better than I’ve been.
Paul Revere’s Ride
Now kiddies come and hear The tale of Paul Revere, Who shouted loud and clear, “The British, they are here!”
The Charge of the Light Brigade
The gallant Light Brigade Went charging up a grade. They did as they were bade, And then they all was dade.
“Beware” his dad implored. He took his vorpal sword, through tulgey wood explored. Then snickersnack! He scored!
all of the poetry of e. e. cummings
with letters small in size e cummings acted wise he opted to stylize and on that cap’talize
Specifications restated. It is a 4 line poem. (A single quatrain) Metered: Iambic trimeter. Rhymed: Monorhyme. Pattern aaaa
The Road Not Taken (Paraphrased Great Poetry)
The roads diverged, oh yes, I chose and felt no stress the road then travelled less. ‘Twas meant to be I guess.
The Questrain is a form invented by Michelle Campbell, writing on Allpoetry.com as Mrs Campbell
Questrain is a four line stanza with abab rhyme scheme and a 9/7/8/6 syllable count. The first three lines introduce a topic and the last line asks a question.
My body I bestow on my man in faithfulness I profess starting when our marriage began. How modest is your dress? by Mrs Campbell A person’s mind is a battle field for as you think, so you do. It’s there to temptations you’ll yield. Who are you listening to? by Mrs Campbell
Pasted from http://allpoetry.com/contest/2642513-A-Questrain-
Specifications restated The Questrain is: A 4 line poem. Syllabic: 9/8/7/6 Rhymed: abab Formulaic: The first three lines introduce a topic and the last line asks a question.
It may be centered or not.
Choice (Form: Questrain)
We’ve had the choice since the beginning. Churches need not tell us so – what is good and what is sinning. Don’t we already know?
The Blood Quill form was invented in 2008 by Jim T. Henriksen writing on Allpoetry.com.
The Blood Quill form has two stanzas, each made of six lines. First and fourth line rhymes, second and fifth line rhymes, and third and sixth line rhymes per stanza. First, second, fourth and fifth line has six syllables, while third and sixth line has nine syllables. Rhyming pattern is abcabc defdef, and rhythm pattern is 669669 669669, or visually:
I will tell you a tale of a powerful guild, with brave members all over the Horde; And not once would they fail, for this group was so skilled, with a feather they held like a sword.
They fought till the last breath, whether theirs or their kill, and the ground trembled hard with a thud; With their enemies death, in their heart was a quill, and a poem was written in blood.
This is an accentual form created by Mary Lou Healy, writing as Mlou on Allpoetry.Com.
Even fewer poets have the training and awareness to carry off a seamless accentual form than have that ability when working with an established meter. So I have constructed the template for her original verse “The Last Hurrah”, as alternating iambic trimeter and dimeter, which it technically is.
The Last Hurrah
Oh, that last defiance
in face of fate,
the red glove flung down
at winter’s gate! There is no mute compliance,
no patient wait.
Dressed in gypsy gown,
fall holds fete.
Brief, so brief the hour
to make the canvas sing,
Every leaf a flower
the heart, to hold ’til spring…
Spring, don’t be late!
Restated specifications The Dibi is: Stanzaic, consisting of two or more octains. Metered, consisting of alternating lines of iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter. Rhymed: abcbabcb. I quite enjoyed the feminine a-rhyme, but Mary Lou avows it is optional.
This is a form created my Mary Lou Healy, writing as Mlou on Allpoetry.com. It is patterned after her own “Autumn’s Imperious Call”.
I’m blown away on the wildling winds of fall. Almost, it seems, I have no will at all but melt into those colored dancing streams that swirl and whirl, painting my leaf-filled dreams.
Painting my leaf-filled dreams with amber light that glows and goes straight to the heart of things. This is the season when my hopes take flight and soar to more ardent heights on burning wings.
On burning wings, my autumn days are borne into an endless sky. I must obey the bright command. As leaves from trees are torn, on falling, calling notes, I’m blown away.
Pasted from http://allpoetry.com/poem/11672061-Autumns-Imperious-Call-by-Mlou
It shares the stanzaic nature and rhyme pattern of the Swap Quatrain but is unique in meter, and by nature of it’s inter-stanza linkage. I have named in the Linked Refrain.
The Linked Refrain is: Stanzaic: Consisting of 3 or more quatrains Metered: Iambic Pentameter Rhymed: aabb cdcd efef, etc Refrain: The last portion of the last line of each stanza becomes the first part of the next stanza, except for the final stanza. It’s last portion is the first portion of the first stanza.
2nd Amendment to U.S. Constitution (Linked Refrain)
A last resort is revolution, friend, when tyranny and foul abuse must end. Dependency sets liberty askew when laws are slanted by a monied few.
A moneyed few will finally take control as Tytler showed us, only all too well.* The point is reached where voting plays no role and masters then arise we can’t expel.
We can’t expel dictators- we’re but slaves and will accept a fair amount of pain. The point will come when men prefer their graves to bondage. Then of course we’ll fight again.
We’ll fight again; the question is, with what? We’ll not have laser drones or planes or tanks nor will the masters use them to rebut our will for fear of rage within the ranks.
Within the ranks of tyrants in the past their scheme has been disarm – exterminate! Won’t we be safer minus guns they asked? Hell no! The facts are such I’d hesitate.
I’d hesitate for social crime alone, disarmed against a thief I’d come up short. I’m keeping every single gun I own for patriots they are a last resort.
This form was created by Mary Lou Healy, who write on Allpoetry.com as MLou. It was patterned after the Italian song “Canto Della Terra” as expressed by Mary Lou in her own poem Chanson.
So true to the song is the form of her poem that she completed it using a tail, similar to a Bob and Wheel, which gives great freedom to other poets trying this form.
Chanson by Mary Lou Healy
We sing the earth on waves of music lifting spirits to the stars and over oceans drifting… days and nights that through an hourglass sifting turn seasons round and our bright future gifting…
We sing of joy a life of love beginning rooted to earth yet wings of beauty spinning through lucent air where blowing leaves are pinning tomorrow’s hopes and all our dreams of winning…
to the sun the light, the light… the sun, the sun, the sun….
Pasted from http://allpoetry.com/poem/6701067-Chanson-by-Mlou
The Mlou Chanson is A poem of 20 or 21 lines Stanzaic: Two octaves plus a tail of four on five short lines Metered: Alternating iambic dimeter and iambic trimeter for the octave one or two stressed syllabls per line for the tail Rhymed: xaxaxaxa xbxbxbxb for the octave, poet’s discretion for the tail the octave rhymes are feminine.
Let’s Sing! (Mlou Chanson)
We tend to sing a song when we are happy I tend to sing alone because I’m crappy; but none-the-less the tunes I choose are snappy, and frequently I learned them from my pappy.
A flashmob meets intending on performing and often you won’t notice while they’re forming as into malls or avenues they’re swarming but when they start you’ll find your heart is warming.
They’ll bring a grin or smile and sing, sing, sing for just a while.
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